Incumbent Schaefer's Loss Attributed to His Candor
By Steve Vogel and Matthew Mosk
Washington Post Staff Writers
Thursday, September 14, 2006
In the end, the very characteristics that made William Donald Schaefer one of the dominant figures in Maryland political history were the same that brought about his downfall in Tuesday's election.
Schaefer conceded defeat yesterday to Del. Peter Franchot (D-Montgomery) in the tight three-way race for the Democratic nomination to be Maryland comptroller. The contest focused on remarks by Schaefer that were typically blunt, eccentric and unfiltered.
With 96 percent of the vote tallied, Franchot had received more than 36 percent, edging out Anne Arundel County Executive Janet S. Owens, who had close to 34 percent. Schaefer finished third, with 30 percent.
Schaefer's loss may -- or may not -- have brought an end to a career that began in 1955 with the Baltimore City Council, extended through four terms as the city's mayor, continued through two terms as governor and then two as comptroller.
"It's a tough one to lose," Schaefer told reporters yesterday in a conference room at his Annapolis office, his piercing blue eyes looking down at the table. "I'm surprised. I didn't think he was going to win."
During the rollicking news conference, Schaefer was by turns cranky, downcast and upbeat, exhibiting the style and antics that endeared him to voters for years but appeared to wear thin in this campaign.
"You can call bologna sausage, but it's still bologna," he said. "I'm me. If you think I'm ever going to change and keep my mouth shut and be politically correct, I'm not going to do that."
That may have cost him votes. "It was his failure to control his tongue and mouth that beat him," said Matthew A. Crenson, a political scientist at Johns Hopkins University.
Franchot said he benefited from voters who had tired of the insults tossed in the race, culminating last week when Schaefer dubbed Owens "Mother Hubbard."
"People said . . . 'Let's vote on the issues, not on nursery rhymes," said Franchot, who portrayed himself as being above the Schaefer-Owens fray. He claimed victory before a crowd of 40 cheering supporters at the Takoma Park City Hall yesterday afternoon.
Much of the rancor seemed to dissipate yesterday, replaced with reflection about Schaefer's place in Maryland history.
Even Franchot, who leveled harsh words at Schaefer during the campaign, was deferential about his opponent.
"I'm humbled at the fact that I defeated William Donald Schaefer," Franchot said. "I salute him. He is a Maryland legend and will remain a Maryland legend."
Schaefer was gracious toward Franchot, mostly. "He ran a good race and I wish him luck," Schaefer said. "If you're not the best man, you don't win."
Owens conceded the race yesterday afternoon in Annapolis in front of supporters and the media. "It was a great race and a heartbreaker," she said. Owens added that she will support Franchot in the November election against Anne M. McCarthy, a former dean of the University of Baltimore business school who captured the Republican nomination against three rivals.
Schaefer met privately yesterday morning with staff members at the comptroller office. They had cake, coffee and tea, and one person was moved to sing "God Bless America."
Then, the 84-year-old comptroller ambled down the hallway to a room packed with television cameras.
What ensued was quintessential Schaefer. He spoke, half-jokingly perhaps, about running for mayor of Ocean City. He complained that certain reporters "make me puke," reflected longingly on his favorite job -- as mayor of Baltimore -- and lamented the way his five-decade career would come abruptly to a close.
It was as Baltimore's mayor that Schaefer left his most indelible mark. Elected to the job in 1971, his credo was "Do it now," and he molded the city government in his image.
"The job of a person in public life is to do one thing: Help people," Schaefer said yesterday. "Public service . . . nothing's like it."
He was credited with overseeing an urban revival that included the creation of Harborplace on the decrepit waterfront. "When it came to bricks and mortar, he was unbeatable," Crenson said.
Schaefer's two terms as governor, by his own admission, were less successful. His authoritative style sparked regular squabbles with the General Assembly, leading to standoffs and a drop in his popularity.
After term limits forced him to leave office in 1995, Schaefer stepped back into the public arena in 1998 when his friend, longtime Maryland Comptroller Louis L. Goldstein, died. Schaefer's stewardship of the office, an arcane but powerful position with a voice in the awarding of state contracts, won generally high marks, but his occasionally bizarre comments drew increasing public reprobation.
Throughout yesterday's 35-minute news conference, Schaefer mixed morose reflection on this, his first campaign loss since 1955, with defiance toward the news media and his two Democratic opponents. He called Franchot "strange."
And when asked about Owens, he said: "The toughest thing in this political game is when your friends turn on you."
Although he apologized for his most intemperate remarks in a radio ad near the end of the campaign, Schaefer seemed to backtrack on that yesterday.
"I don't apologize. I might be sorry I said some things, but I'm not going to apologize."
At times, he was the playful Schaefer -- the master of public relations who once captivated the Baltimore media by donning an old-fashioned, one-piece bathing suit and jumping into the seal pond at the city's new aquarium.
He paused repeatedly, freezing with his lips pursed (angry) or with his eyes popping (surprise) so the cameras could catch the expressions.
He feigned deafness when a reporter wanted to know whether Schaefer would get behind either candidate for governor this year.
He brought up Ocean City, where he has a condominium, several times with a twinkle in his eye. "This will be my last appearance until I announce in Ocean City," he said.
In recent years, Schaefer has been candid in his belief that he would leave his job feet first. "Like this," he once said jokingly, imitating a corpse by crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes.
Yesterday, the end of life seemed much on his mind. He said he would not have a tombstone -- he wants to be put to rest in a mausoleum next to the remains of his longtime companion, Hilda Mae Snoops. But if he did have a marker, he said, it would have only two words on it.
" 'He cared,' " Schaefer said. "That's all."
Staff writers Jennifer Lenhart and Lauren Wiseman contributed to this report.
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